Pretending
by TheGrandTour
Summary: Set between episodes 7:5 and 7:6 so obviously *spoilers* This is the first part of short 2-parts fic. And it's about Harry... of course.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: All characters in this work of fan fiction are owned by Kudos and BBC_**

_Set between episodes 5 and 6 of series 7 __so obviously *SPOILERS*… and written before I've watched episode 6! _

_Happy Birthday Claire_

**Pretending**

**Chapter 1**

Pushing the door open, she stands in the hall, looking blankly at her _home sweet home_, which is nothing like a home, let alone a _sweet_ one. She doesn't know what to do. She guesses that throwing things and destroying a few pieces of furniture, as she did after Adam's death, would achieve nothing– not this time. What _could_ perhaps help her would be to hit that man's face, repeatedly and forcefully, to permanently erase his smile, but she knows that is a luxury she cannot afford.

Slowly, she takes a few steps into her room while playing with her keys in her hands. After another few minutes of indecision, she throws the keys on the coffee table, and grabs the TV remote control as she collapses onto the couch. She pushes the _on_ button, hoping that the images on the screen of one of those stupid reality TV shows will help her to forget what she has done today for the greater good... for the operation...for her own safety.

She needs to talk to someone. She needs to get rid of the images that are popping in her mind every few minutes, and the very real feeling of the cold metal on her skin. She needs someone who is able to make her think that she can still have a _normal_ life; not the kind of life where you are forced to have sex with your enemy to win the battle over him.

She holds her phone in her hand as she ponders whom to call.

Friends? They have mostly all fled at some point or another. Joining MI6 just after university does little to help you develop a social network or a social life. She was always away: _far_ away most of the time; too far away to return phone calls or to be there on time for Birthday parties. One after the other, the friends of her youth and student years had given up on her.

Her mother? Oh yes, wonderful idea! "Hi Mother! You know what? I had a gun pointed on my temple today and I told my boss that there was no gun. I would be dead by now if I was not so bloody good at my job! I'm proud of me. And you? Are you proud of me Mother?" No, you can't inflict the realities of your job on your family: you can't tell them what you have to deal with day after day.

Boyfriend? The last one is dead. Shortly before his death, he had cheated on her with an asset in an op, breaking all the rules of the job while doing it. Then after that, he had saved her life by switching syringes and making her a _dead_ person for six months. But she can't afford the luxury of moaning about the Yalta operation, her fake death, or Adam's death either. It is her life; the one she has chosen; the job she wanted to do; the job that she loves.

She allows herself a rare moment of introspection before coming to the conclusion that she can no longer pretend to family and friends that she has a _normal_ life. She acknowledges that the only people she can rely on, the only ones who can understand what is in her head at that moment, are the colleagues she works with. Not all of them though: she doesn't know Lucas well enough yet; Ben is too young; Jo is fighting her own inner demons; and Malcolm is already comforting Connie. She knows that tonight there is only one person she can completely trust; one person that could help her without her having to explain every minute detail.

She switches off the television, takes hold of the keys, and rushes to the door as the realisation suddenly hits her: she hates her flat.

&&&&&

He puts on his coat and, grabbing the leash, he calls Scarlet to come to him so he can fasten it to her collar. The little dog is so glad to get out that she bounces up at his ankles to show her appreciation. As he walks through the dark streets of London, waiting for Scarlet who is inspecting each lamppost and several cars, he thinks that walking his dog is probably one of the last remaining things that help him pretend he has a _normal_ life. As so many of his bosses in his early years at Five, he has become what he was mocking: not a man, just a job. He _is_ his job. He knows that he is good at it, therefore, he knows that his intuition rarely fails: something is going to happen. He doesn't know what it is that is making him feel uneasy; he only knows that he would like to be a few weeks older so that, whatever it is, it's over.

The drizzle makes the pavement shine with the reflection of the moonlight. The streets are quiet; he can only hear the piercing sound of a police car siren a few streets away. He breathes the moist air, as he does almost every night, pondering what his life looks like when he is not at work: empty. He needs to go home.

He pulls on the leash: "Come on Scarlet, time to go home!" He glances at his watch while waiting for her to catch up with his hurriedly pacing feet. It's already 10:45pm and he doesn't want to be late, especially not tonight.

Twenty minutes later, he is sitting on the couch with Scarlet snuggled beside him, waiting for the anticipated ringing sound. He has taken off his jacket and tie, opened the first buttons of his shirt, and poured himself a large tumbler of his favourite Oban whisky.

The ringing noise he hears is not the sound he had expected: it's just someone at the door. Surprised and slightly nervous of the unexpected visitor, he calms Scarlet before taking hold of the small gun he always keeps in the credence of the hall. He opens the door slowly, and then smiles at the sight of Ros standing on the threshold.

"Are you going to let me in Harry, or should I have asked for permission to visit you first?"

He opens the door widely to let her enter his house.

"Of course Ros. Sorry, I just wasn't expecting you… or anyone else."

"And you always welcome your guest with a gun in your hand?"

"No, not always. Only my outstanding officers," he answers with a smirk.

As they walk to the living room, she looks across at him. Outwardly, he is smiling, but she can instinctively feel that he is tense.

"Harry, what is it? Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong Ros," he lies. "I'm just being cautious or probably a bit paranoid with my old age. Do you want a drink?" He gestures with his hand for her to sit on the sofa.

He would like to trust her, but she has already betrayed him once: betrayed or played a complex game of double bluff; even _she_ didn't know for sure. Anyway, he pondered, it was too big a secret to tell her about Sugar Horse...not now...not yet.

Watching her as he pours a glass of wine, he tries to figure out why she has called on him at this late hour. He watches the emotions crossing her face, and guesses that she is probably having some difficulty coping with the aftermath of the recent op. She told him during the debriefing what had really happened the night before, and about the gun confrontation in the office. He knows from experience that she must talk to someone. If it's not him now, it will be the shrink in a few days.

With his tumbler in hand, he sits in his chair, still watching her, while they are silently drinking. He knows that he has to give her some time to let her speak, but he also knows that in a few minutes his phone will ring. In an impatient move, he looks briefly at his wristwatch.

She sips her white Burgundy, enjoying the taste of it, and remains silent as she ponders what she is going to tell him. Her stare is locked on the glass as she realises she doesn't know what to say. She is unaware of Harry's questioning gaze on her.

"Ros?"

"Yes…" she hesitates, but she knows that it's now or never. "Do you ever question your life, Harry? I mean, don't you have _regrets_ about your life?"

His eyes fall on her trembling hands. It is the first time he has seen her like this. Even when Juliet was pointing the syringe at her neck, he only saw fear of death, not the fragility he can read in her eyes now. He guesses that asking about _his_ life is her way of avoiding the real issue: it helps her resist from admitting that, at that particular moment, she is not his cold, manipulative, outstanding officer, but simply a human-being, questioning the meaning of life.

"Do you mean about me becoming my job, and losing my sense of self in the process?" he answers.

She nods.

"I have some regrets, yes. I know I failed with my children and my relationship with Jane, and that still haunts me at times, but apart from that, I cannot afford to dwell on past mistakes."

Harry takes a sip from his glass, lowers his hand heavily on the armrest of his chair, and sighs quietly before continuing.

"Regrets are not compatible with _our_ work, Ros. We make choices: good ones and bad ones. At the end of the day, you have to ask yourself, what is our purpose? Do we achieve something? I happen to believe that we do. Of course, there are other more personal things that I haven't done yet, but I will have plenty of time to do those when I retire."

Leaning forward in his chair, Harry chooses his words very carefully.

"Ros, if you think that what we're doing doesn't justify the sacrifice of our own lives, the only option left is to leave the service." The tone of his voice is a perfect blend of calmness and confidence. There is no place for doubts in what he is saying. He knows she is unsure; that he must instil as much support as he can in his words. That is what she needs to hear...not his _own_ doubts, regrets, and fears.

"I know all that, Harry, and I don't want to leave the job. I just..." she hesitates. "I can't understand what's happening to me tonight. I've already been killed once, and I've been in delicate situations so many times in the past, so why now?" She is still looking at the drops of the golden wine sliding down the inside of her glass as her eyes fill with unshed tears.

Softly, very softly, he responds.

"Was it the first time, Ros?"

This time she raises her head and looks at him, obviously surprised by his question.

"First time for what, Harry?"

"First time you were forced to have sex with a target for the purpose of an op," he specifies as he refills her glass.

Her eyes fall again on the glass in her hands, as she cannot bear his interrogating but caring stare. A slight move of her head to say _yes_ is enough to break her last defence, and a lone tear rolls on her cheek.

"This was the last thing left to you," he explains. "...your _body_, I mean. Last night, you had to give that to the service too, along with all the other sacrifices you have made, such as your family and friends. What you feel now is that there is nothing left of your integrity: nothing mental or physical left to give up. But you're not lost Ros. You have saved the country from certain disaster today; a few weeks ago, you saved the lives of hundreds of people. That is your job, and you're good at it..._very_ good. You can be proud of yourself Ros; you have done a fantastic work today. _I'm_ proud of you." His voice is really sweet, almost caressing. He doesn't have to hold her hand, or pat her shoulder: his voice is enough to give her the explanation and comfort she was craving.

There is nothing more to say. Tomorrow will be another day: other enemies to defeat, other threats to fight. She will carry on and do her job, again, with the conscious decision that nothing will hurt her anymore. She just answers, quietly, with a small smile.

"Thanks, Harry."

She already knew everything he just told her, but she had to hear it from someone she respects and admires...from her best friend.

Scarlet's head on her lap, the warmth of the wine, and the warmth in his voice, are all diffusing her nerves, and she's now much more relaxed than she could have imagined possible earlier that evening. Raising her head, she notices that Harry is looking at his watch again and he seems to be wriggling uncomfortably in his chair. Sensing the difference in his behaviour, she is about to ask him again what is bothering him when the mobile phone on the coffee table rings.

"Sorry, I have to take this," he says as he stands up, grabs the phone, and quickly disappears upstairs.

She notices that the phone he is holding is not his usual one. Watching him walking quickly to exit the room, she worries that Harry might be in some kind of trouble. A few weeks ago, he disappeared during an op, and had let her down a few hours later in the middle of the street after another phone call. Harry is not usually so secretive with her, and her spook instinct tells her that something is wrong.

Ten minutes later, Harry is back. He resumes his position in his chair, while asking her if she wants another glass of wine. Nothing on his face tells her what has happened; in fact, it is one of those occasions when she can't read his face at all.

"Harry, if you are in a caught up the middle of something serious, I can help you. You know you can trust me."

Their eyes lock for a moment as Harry is pondering what to tell her. All of sudden, he stands up and paces his carpeted floor while rubbing his hand on his face in a gesture that the whole Section D recognises as his pondering _signature_.

"Yes Ros, I do trust you, don't doubt that. I…I just don't know where to start."

He doesn't have time to say anything more before they both hear a very slight noise coming from the back of the house.

Ros is up in split second, but Harry doesn't look frightened. Instead, he pats her arm in a re-assuring gesture.

"Nothing is wrong, Ros. Believe me."

He walks across the room.

"Stay here and I'll be back in two minutes," he says, as he disappears through the back door of the room.

Ros is now standing alone, struggling to hear some indeterminate whispers, soon followed by silence. Someone is in the house, and she is feeling more and more puzzled. After another half a minute of silence, she decides to disobey Harry's request and walks silently towards the main door of the living room, which leads to the hallway.

She steps cautiously towards the door. There is no light shining in the hallway, so it makes it easier for her to tilt her head around the doorframe to watch without being seen. Her breathe is immediately caught in her throat as her eyes and brain instantly spark with the crazy realisation of the scene unfolding in front of her.

At the end of the dark corridor, Harry is standing, holding a woman closely against him. The only noise Ros can hear is the sound of their passionate kisses. She can't see the woman's face because Harry's broad shoulders hide it, but she has no doubt who it is likely to be.

Ros smiles as she walks back into the light of the living room. She assumes that they would be grateful for some time alone, but she doesn't want to leave without finding out what is going on. Re-taking her seat, she finishes her wine in startled silence, pondering her next move. Having finished the glass, she eventually chooses to leave, and turns on her heels at the precise moment when Harry and his friend enter the room. Ros smirks at the sight of Harry's arm holding his guest tightly around her waist and at their broad smiles.

"Hello, Ruth."

"Hello, Ros."

_Second and last chapter very soon. _

_My beta reader is fantastic._


	2. Chapter 2

_Set between episodes 5 and 6 of series 7__, so obviously *SPOILERS*. _

_Written before I've watched episode 6! _

**Pretending**

**Chapter 2**

Ros smiles.

"It seems that you have quite a habit of resurrecting dead women Harry."

Ruth's eyes have fallen to an indistinct point on the floor as she tries to think of a response, but however desperately she tries, her brain seems to have temporarily shut down. In an instant, the vision of Ros standing in front of her has brought to mind the images of her last day on the Grid; with Ros sitting at her desk, and Oliver Mace behind her.

Harry feels Ruth shudder in his arms, and he leans his face over her head to kiss her hair in a comforting gesture.

For a few moments, there is only silence in the room as they all search for the appropriate words. Eventually, Ruth is the first one to move. Leaning her hand on Harry's chest, she looks at him before turning towards Ros.

"I'm glad to see you again Ros, but I'm sure you have questions to ask Harry. So, if you don't mind, I will have a quick shower and will be back in a few minutes."

Harry's answer is a quick kiss on her lips, a stroke of her hair, and he frees her from his embrace. As she turns around, her hand smoothes his arm and, with a little squeeze on his hand, she is gone: leaving them in silence, listening to her gentle footsteps on the stairs.

Those few gestures have spoken of something quite unexpected for Ros: a real complicity; a perfect intimacy; a true harmony; one you can only witness between people truly in love. Whatever their story was, Ros knew that tonight was not the first time that Ruth was in Harry's arms, or in his house.

Harry returns to his armchair, while Ros sits again on the couch. She can tell that Harry is more relaxed now; almost seeming relieved. Raising her eyes to him, she can see the satisfied smile on his face, but she also senses the anger gradually filling her.

"How long Harry? How long have been hiding Ruth? Why didn't you tell me? Did you think that I might report her again? For Christ's sake Harry! I know I made a mistake back then, but at that moment, I thought she was betraying you. I did it to protect you _and_ the service, however stupid that sounds now!"

Ros' voice and eyes are expressing a real anger. She is hurt: hurt that he didn't confide his secret to her; that he didn't trust her enough. She thought that she was his best friend. He should have talked to her! But he didn't. Now it was _her_ turn to feel the taste of betrayal in her mouth; it was a bitter taste.

"I know I owe you an explanation Ros," he begins, "...but, first of all, I want you to know that my silence has _nothing_ to do with my trust in you. If I could have told you, I would have. But Ruth is still officially dead, and I haven't found a right way to clear her name yet. Telling you about her would have involved you, and if I can't clear her name, if someone, someday, as careful as we are, finds out about her existence, I want to be the only one to fall. I'm ready to lose my job for her, but I don't want you, or anyone else in Section D, falling with me."

"So why did you just change your mind Harry? Why let me know tonight?"

"Because there's something I can't explain right now, but I promise I will… in a couple of days. In the coming weeks, if anything happens to me, I want you to take care of Ruth. Everything is in a safe - I will give you the details later - and you have to promise me, Ros, that you will help her."

Harry's voice is broken by the end of his little speech, letting her see, with no doubt, the depth of his feelings for Ruth.

As with everyone on the Grid, she knew that there was an obvious connection between Harry and Ruth: she was his _rose-tinted blind spot. _But at the time of the Mace affair, Ros had not been on the Grid long enough to understand that it was not just an office infatuation, but something much bigger...a real story of love. She had been a tool in Mace's hand for Harry's dismissal, as well as Ruth's disappearance, and it was a regret she had to live with day after day. _That_ was the reason of her anger right now: she was still filled with remorse over her actions of that day, whereas Harry, it appears, was enjoying nights of comfort in the arms of his beloved Ruth!

"I will Harry, I promise, but…"

Harry raised his hand to stop her questioning him further. He has already decided that he will tell her about Sugar Horse, as soon as he has enough detail. For now, he has something else to explain, to show his trust of her, and to show how fragile Ruth's situation is.

"When Zaf told me that he had managed to arrange a passage to France for her, I asked one of my old friends, who works at the British embassy in Paris, to make contact with her. Three months after her departure, I had to travel to Paris to organize a visit for the PM. My friend arranged a meeting for us. We…"

He stops for a moment, choosing his words carefully, visibly overwhelmed by his memories

"We got...closer."

He pauses for a moment, swallows hard to try to contain his emotions, and continues his story.

"For the first year, we managed to meet every month or so: sometimes in Britain, other times in France. But it soon became obvious that is was too dangerous for both of us, so we decided that it would be safer for her to be in Britain...closer to me."

He didn't have chance to finish his speech. Ros couldn't _believe_ what she had just heard, and she interrupted him abruptly.

"You mean she lives in Britain!? Harry, that's crazy! Surely that puts both of you at even bigger risk!?"

"Yes, Ros, she's in Britain. She works with one of my former officers who resigned from the service a few years ago, and now runs a private investigations firm. He's watching her back, but he would not be able to protect her from the service if something… something happened. I'm aware of the risks, as is Ruth, but it seems that, till now, we've been quite good at handling the situation."

Ros' anger was starting to dissipate at the sight of Harry pouting at her suggestion that he was being reckless.

"So," she smirked, "Sir Harry and Ruth Evershed, a couple at last! It must be the most well kept secret in Britain. Don't worry, Harry, I will keep it that way."

"Thank you, Ros. Now, would you excuse me for a minute please? I've forgotten to say something to Ruth."

Harry quickly leaves the room, and Ros, for the second time that peculiar evening, is left alone in Harry's living room, flabbergasted.

&&&&&

Ruth is relieved that the pain in her shoulders feels a little better, as the jet of hot water massages and relaxes the tense muscles of her back. The steam envelopes and protects her. She is feeling so confused tonight. She knows that something is wrong with Harry. He would _never_ ask her to come to stay a few days at his house, unless it was for a very serious reason. Moreover, revealing the truth about her to Ros seems a _very_ dangerous game to play. What was at stake to make him take so many risks?

On top of all those worries, if she is being honest with herself, there is something else niggling her. When she had seen Ros in his living room a moment ago, she had suddenly realised that Harry's new Chief of Section was a beautiful and intelligent woman. More beautiful than her. During one of their late night phone calls, he told her that he was really glad to be working more closely with Ros, since Adam's death. He had praised her abilities and told Ruth that Ros was really good at her job; far more than he had previously given her credit for. Now, seeing Ros after such a long time, she realised that her relationship with Harry, as intense as it was, was also very fragile. After all, it was _Ros_ who was spending her days with him on the Grid. Ros was the woman accompanying him to meetings. Ros was the one he confided in about work, and relied heavily on during his working day. On top of all these doubts, Ruth was certain that she had caught a glimpse of disappointment in Ros' eyes when they had entered the room, together. She couldn't blame Ros for having feelings for Harry. After all, who could resist his charm?

She steps out the shower and begins to dry herself, while the nasty feeling of jealousy and worry constrict her stomach. Drying her hair with a towel, she doesn't hear the door open. A few seconds later, his arms are holding her close to him, in a warm and tender embrace.

Waiting for her to turn and face him, he then kisses her face and whispers.

"Are you alright Ruth?"

Looking at him, she is amazed that he knows her so well and that he can read her thoughts: the doubts, the worries, the fears. He is not going to let those thoughts overwhelm her. His hands are warm on her skin, and the way he caresses her back is more relaxing than anything the massaging shower could achieve. Her arms around his waist are holding him flush to her naked body, as she buries her head in his chest. She needs to re-affirm her love for him, and she needs to hear him re-assure her of his love for her. Their whispered words of love are vanishing in the steam of the bathroom and, for a short moment, nothing else exists in their universe: nothing bad can touch them or hurt them; they both feel secure.

&&&&&

Harry and Ruth are cuddled on the couch: Harry's arm is draped across her shoulder, and Ruth's hands are rested on his lap. Scarlet is contentedly curled up on Ros' knees, as she plays with the fur on her head. A second bottle of White Burgundy is now on the table, as well as a plate of crackers and cheese Ruth found in the kitchen.

There is an obvious awkwardness in the room, to say the least. The conversation should probably be easier between them - two spooks and an ex-spook - but too many things have been left unsaid to make the discussion flow.

Harry is the one trying to make conversation. He is the one dealing the cards tonight: the only one to control the situation. He decides to lead them to a safe field: general politics, the economical situation and crisis. He would resort to chatting about the weather, if it could break the uncomfortable silence. His bubbling mind is hidden behind the perfect mask of a calm smiling man, satisfied to have both his lover and best friend in his house. He is usually more than able at playing the waiting game, but now he feels a growing impatience to be alone with Ruth. Their moments together are rare and precious and, right now, he just wants Ros to leave.

Ruth is equally unsatisfied with the situation. There are so many questions to ask in her mind, and she is both aroused by Harry's physical proximity, and uneasy of Ros' stare directed at him. She doesn't want to talk about her life, because she is still not completely sure of Ros' loyalty, and does not want to offer too much information that Ros could used against her. So, instead, she is talking about the growth of unemployment she has witnessed in recent times, when all she wants, spirit, body and soul, is to be in bed, with Harry.

The main feeling in Ros' mind now, is the nonsense of all this. What game are they playing? Fooling themselves that this is a simple, innocent, late discussion between friends: sharing some good wine and discussing the latest developments in current affairs!? She came to Harry's home tonight to talk of truth, and to make sense of the last few days. Fortunately, they had managed that before Ruth appeared, but now, the pretence of a trying to hold a normal conversation is bordering on the ridiculous! She is certainly not naïve, and observing the ever-growing closeness of the couple sitting in front of her, she is left with only one impression: they need to be alone...soon. Knowing that Harry, ever the gentleman, will probably never directly ask her to leave, she comes to a quick decision to end this torment for all their sakes.

"Well, I think it's time for me to go home," Ros smiles, trying to hide her amusement at the poorly disguised expression of delight of both of her companions.

"Thanks for the wine, the talk, and the good company Harry. Ruth, it was a real pleasure to see you again. Take care," she says as she stands up.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

The tone of his voice expresses a real sincerity in his words and, in a split second, she remembers why she came here in the first place: to say aloud her most intimate feelings and worries of loneliness to the one person she admires and respects most. To the person that, tonight, she would have liked to share a bed with, if only their lives had been different: if only he wasn't already very much in love with someone else.

Ruth feels ashamed and relieved at the same time. Ashamed to be so happy to see Ros leaving, and relieved that nothing had been said to compromise her position.

"It was a pleasure for me too, Ros. You take care too."

Ruth offers out her hand to Ros and, once taken and shaken briefly, she takes a step backwards.

"I'm going upstairs now," she adds, deciding to give some space to the leaders of Section D. With a final wave, she has disappeared up the staircase, leaving Harry to walk Ros to the front door.

"Good night, Ros, and don't forget, you're very good at your job, and you _are_ making a difference; please don't doubt that. I'll see you in the morning."

Ros smiles as she realises that her ability to _read_ Harry is something that has strengthened their bond in recent times. In one short sentence, he has explained everything that needs to be said: his trust in her, his re-assurance of her qualities, and his instruction that it is definitely time that she left now.

"Thanks again, Harry. Good night."

&&&&&

As he closes the door carefully, and checks every windows of the house – an extra precaution as he always does when Ruth is here - he ponders if Ros may have more feelings for him rather than just friendship. Did he catch a glimpse of something else? Was that jealousy in her eyes when he entered the room for the first time with Ruth in his arms? He sighs, thinking that the situation is complicated enough without having to deal with another dimension. He has to focus on Sugar Horse, and he has to find the mole. If it's not Connie, who could it be? He is pinning all hope on Ruth's cleverness and sharp mind helping him solve the mystery.

Despite his brief moment of doubt about Ros, as he climbs the stairs, there is only one thing on his mind: Ruth is here, in his house, and all he wants is to hold her in his arms. He wants to love her, be loved by her, and, for a few hours, forget everything about his job and saving the country.

Pushing the door of the bedroom open, he stops in his tracks, as he does _each time_ she is in his bed. This is the most beautiful sight in the world. The woman he has been in love with for six years, his lover for two years, is lying down his bed, naked, waiting for him. His breath is caught in his throat, and he doesn't even try to stop the moan escaping. It expresses all his feelings in one single sound and, as he finally feels her skin against his, there is nothing more to say. He is alive again.

&&&&&

Pushing the door open, she stands in the hall, looking blankly at her h_ome sweet home_, which is nothing like a home, let alone a _sweet_ one. She has to do something about it. Maybe re-painting the walls and a change of furniture would help?

Slowly, she takes a few steps into her room, while playing with her keys in her hands. After another few minutes of indecision, she throws the keys on the coffee table, and grabs the TV remote control as she collapses onto the couch. She knows what she is missing, and she has made her decision. She is going to buy a dog.

_The end…__for now. _


End file.
